


tipping points

by spookykingdomstarlight



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Chance Meetings, Identity Issues, M/M, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 10:30:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11079741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/pseuds/spookykingdomstarlight
Summary: He hadn’t thought of Poe Dameron in a long time, not since Tuanul, not since before Starkiller, not since he’d given himself fully, foolishly to Snoke’s cause.





	tipping points

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pineovercoat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pineovercoat/gifts).



Gray-dark smoke trailed across the sky in the wake of a streak of red, flickering light, almost imperceptible. If not for his helmet, he might not have seen anything except that smoke trail against the pale, nearly uniform, gray of the clouds overhead. As Kylo Ren peered up at it through the curtain of rain now lashing the ground around him, he realized this was why he was here. It had to be.

Though Kylo didn’t want to, he still believed in signs and sometimes, the Force still nudged at him, pulled and twisted and twined its way through his awareness, demanding in a thousand small ways that he do its bidding.

It was why he was here in the first place.

Whether that was a good thing or not remained to be seen.

Turning, he strode back toward his shuttle. His robes thwacked heavily against his boots and dragged across the ground, reluctant to follow. The trousers beneath clung to his thighs, sticking and unsticking with every step. The weight of the fabric pulled at his shoulders and neck, tugged at him in such a way that he was sure it would drag him into the mud if he let it.

He did not let it.

As he settled into the pilot’s seat, methodically flicking the various controls that would take him airborne, he thought of another pilot who had always been a great deal faster at pre-flight checks than he was.

He hadn’t thought of Poe Dameron in a long time, not since Tuanul, not since before Starkiller, not since he’d given himself fully, foolishly to Snoke’s cause.

Kylo forced a black shroud to descend over his mind, not meditation as he knew it, but effective at choking off unproductive musings anyway. His focus honed in on the job almost exclusively. A part of him remained curious about what he’d find at the crash site—because at this point, a crash was inevitable—but that, at least, would be solved momentarily.

There was no solving Dameron now or ever.

As the shuttle lurched to life around him, he hoped he wouldn’t find he’d come out here for nothing.

*

The crash was easy enough to isolate. If the billowing plumes of smoke weren’t enough of a giveaway, scans of the planet’s surface would’ve done nicely. That was the nice thing about uninhabited planets, he supposed. They made it easy to find unusual things. And a wreck, for this place, was unusual. Except for sharp rocks and pummeling rain and wide swathes of sickly looking blue-gray-green trees, there wasn’t much here.

Kylo set the shuttle down in a clearing near his target location. As he powered it down, he checked that his lightsaber was firmly attached to his belt. Then he grabbed the first-aid kit that had been locked in place on the wall near the ramp along the back. He wasn’t entirely sure why he did so. This wasn’t intended to be a rescue mission whatever else it was. He didn’t need a first-aid kit to get answers.

Here, the incessant rain became more of a drizzle and that was somehow more obnoxious than the downpour he’d suffered through earlier. The mist clung to the air, almost solid as Kylo stepped through it. As he closed on the crash site—fully controlled from this angle, it seemed, considering it had landed in one-ish piece—he became aware of the sound of water droplets hitting overheated metal, the sizzle of it forming a constant hiss. Steam rose from the surface of the damaged X-wing and before Kylo could stop himself, he heard a very distinctive, once very _beloved_ voice curse so foully it would’ve made a trader blush.

Shit.

Kylo took a step back. A fallen branch snapped beneath his boot and the swearing he heard stopped. Then, Poe—Dameron— _Poe’s_ head popped up over the nose of the X-wing. A rivulet of pink-tinged rain traced the arch of his cheek and dripped down his jaw toward his chin. His reaction time was a little slow as he drew his blaster. “Force fucking _shit_ ,” he said. They both, Kylo thought, pretended Poe’s aim wasn’t wavering, that Poe’s voice wasn’t hoarse and slurry, and that Kylo definitely had the advantage here even without drawing his weapon. “What the _fuck_?”

At Tuanul, it had been easy to force Poe to his knees, to intimidate him (or try to, this was Poe he was thinking about). It had been easy to take him back to the _Finalizer_ and pluck broken, cracked secrets from his mind. Poe didn’t know then who Kylo was. And Kylo still had purpose then.

“Fair warning, I will shoot you if you take another step,” Poe said, more steady. Water clung to his eyelashes, enough of it that when he blinked, they clumped together. And then he shook his head and sent a spray up around him. “I’ve got a full gas canister, pal. There’s no way you’ll be able to stop every shot.”

No, that was probably true.

He didn’t bother pointing out that he could just wrench the weapon out of Poe’s hand or crush the muzzle or knock Poe to the ground first without so much as moving.

“Does your precious Resistance know where you are?” Kylo asked finally. Just because this planet was uninhabited didn’t mean the sector was, too. First Order patrols were making themselves known constantly even in these parts. It was only a matter of time before someone came looking for Poe—and his enemies certainly had the advantage.

It wasn’t lost on Kylo that Kylo, too, was Poe’s enemy. Should have been. No, definitely was.

Perhaps this was why he was here, why it was so easy for the Force to nudge at him. He could finish what he’d started.

What he really wanted to know was: _did my mother tell you who I am?_

But there was no recognition in Poe’s eyes, nothing beyond glassy disgust. He felt fear, too, but Kylo only knew that fact from the trepidatious ripples that radiated outward through the Force. Going only by how Poe carried himself, Kylo might as well have been a vermin Poe’d found in a trap. “Why are you even here? They wouldn’t have sent you. Nobody even knew it was me on this mission.”

Kylo swallowed. He should’ve demanded an answer or threatened Poe or done just about anything except what he ended up doing instead.

He flung the first-aid kit at Poe. With a thwack, it hit the ground near Poe’s feet and settled into the grassy, grimy mud with a squelch. “You should clean up.”

“What I need is a repair kit,” Poe griped, stepping forward and kicking at the duraplast container.

Scanning the ground, Kylo shrugged his shoulders. Around him, the Force crackled and snapped with possibilities. His mind whispered sweet lies to him all the while. _You could go home; you could tell him the truth; you could atone_. “I can buy you six hours to do what you can with what you have, but you’re on your own otherwise, and if you’re not gone, I’ll drag you back to the First Order myself. Are we clear?”

Poe had the gall to appear not even the least bit grateful. Snide, he bowed his head slightly in recognition. “As the Corellian Trade Route.” He was smart though. He didn’t question Kylo’s generosity. Or he didn’t care. He didn’t thank Kylo either.

That, more than anything, felt right. As right as Kylo deserved.

As soon as the ship was out of sight and Poe along with it, Kylo stopped, dragged in a deep, ragged breath. Even though the air that circulated through his helmet was temperature controlled and appropriately humidified, it cut at the back of his throat just to inhale. His lungs squeezed and his stomach turned and flipped on itself. The Force screeched in the back of his mind.

Drawing himself up, he ignored it all. Without belief in the cause to guide him, he couldn’t deny the truth. Poe was still as beautiful as he always was. Once, they’d shared a clarity of purpose, a life. Now, Poe carried both of those things alone.

Maybe he preferred it that way.

The small part of Kylo that didn’t belong to Snoke, to the Order, to the Dark Side hoped he did.

A small mercy.

It was the only thing Kylo had left to give.


End file.
